


We Remember Differently - What If?

by flash0flight



Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brotp, commission, headcanoned event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:05:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flash0flight/pseuds/flash0flight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Clint are sent on their first high-class mission together - in Budapest. But things doing go exactly as they planned, landing Clint held captive while Steve goes through hell to track him down and bring him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Remember Differently - What If?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viperf0x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/viperf0x/gifts).



> STRICTLY AU, written as a commission for my dear Hawk. Based on a headcanoned version of Budapest for Clint and Natasha, a fic of which can be found [here](http://wordsofacrazedwriter.tumblr.com/post/41347651361/we-remember-differently). This commission was in a universe where Steve was pulled out of the ice much earlier than he was - 2002 - and folded into SHIELD ranks as an agent, becoming Clint's partner.
> 
> Beta-ed by the wonderful [Jackie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/girl0nfire)
> 
> [Commissions are currently open](http://flash0flight.tumblr.com/post/41348659859/flash0flights-writing-commissions)

Everything is still weighing down on him, like a tonne of bricks being dropped on him one by one. Every moment he spends in that world, in that time, drops a new stress on Steve’s mind and soul. It had been bad enough that he’d awoken to a joke, to a façade that they truly thought he couldn’t see through. That they had thought a cheap room and a uniform on a pretty woman could distract him.

But now SHIELD is insisting he be phased into the new world under their supervision, that Steve Rogers go through the training, the procedures, the tests and trials of a SHIELD agent.

Steve hates it. He hates the way they expected him to be a—a spy. Steve is Army, he’s a soldier, he’s Captain America. It’s all he has left, and now they want to take that, take the serum and the supersoldier, and use him to be a spy instead?

He’d rather be back on the stage selling war bonds in tights.

But he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He’s stuck in a future he doesn’t understand, thrown into a world full of bizarre technology and backwards ideologies. SHIELD has given him an apartment, a set of files, information, a tablet to access whatever he needs. They’ve given him an office and quarters at base – a small shoebox of a room, practically a cell, with nothing but a bed, a desk, and a rickety bookshelf.

But when some dirty-blond kid saunters into his office, while Steve is sitting at the desk going over the latest training reports he needs to fill out and sign, none of that really makes a damn difference. The man hadn’t knocked, hadn’t asked to enter, he’d just wandered in as though he’d picked the wrong door, hands in his pockets and bright eyes glancing around the room lazily, as if he’d rather be anywhere else. As if it just isn’t worth his time, looking after an out-of-place soldier from Brooklyn.

“ Good morning, I’m Clint Barton and I’ll be your babysitter today,” the guy tells him with a drawl in his voice, the tone so painfully dull and uninterested as Steve rises from the desk, and Steve could swear for a moment he’s staring at Bucky, walking in and challenging him on how much work he’s doing again, as he had done so many times, back in the day. But that’s a thought Steve can’t concentrate on; he forces himself to concentrate on what is actually before him. Agent Barton is dressed in what looks like a modified SHIELD uniform – a uniform Steve scorned unconsciously from day one. Instead he found himself in his service uniform, relieved that something from the old days had made it through, just as he did. Steve isn’t given much time to think about this, though, before Clint continues; “ And tomorrow, and the day after, and basically every day until you somewhat know what you’re doing. “

“ It’s good to meet you, Agent Barton. Fury’s told me about your skills and qualifications—“ Steve begins, determined to keep a professional tone. He won’t be stuck with this kid for long, he hopes. Especially not when that temperament, that tone and approach, the instant reaction to fall back on sarcasm when he’s stuck with something he doesn’t want, reminds Steve so much of a time better left untouched. Of a man he had been so desperate to keep safe, only to be the cause of his death.

“ I hope he didn’t tell you I give base tours, because I have much more important things to do. “ Barton interrupts, his gaze finally settling on the soldier. There is no way he doesn’t know who Steve is; ever since he woke up, agents left right and centre have been watching him, whispers following him through the hallways. For once, though, he is faced with a man who doesn’t seem to care who he is, or _what_ he is. Just that he’s in the way; Steve’s inconveniencing him, wasting his time.

So, if Barton thinks that’s all he is, that Steve needs a babysitter to hold his hand to cross the SHIELD cafeteria, he is going to be pleasantly surprised. Steve’s become quite good at giving people pleasant surprises. Especially when they remind him so much of—

“ I can assure you I’ve figured out how to find my way through the base just fine, Agent. “ Steve answers in the same professional tone, determined to keep this simple. The man is, no doubt, expecting to show Captain America the ropes, not deal with the man behind the mask. So, professional’s the best approach. “ I’m sure this is just a temporary set up, you’ll be back to your regular duties in no time. “

“ Oh yeah? Maybe you should have a chat with Fury then, Captain. Seems you two aren’t quite on the same level. “ Clint rolls his eyes as he turns to leave, giving a half wave over his shoulder. “ I’ll be in the range when you’ve heard the happy news. “

“ What—Wait, Barton—“

But the door swings shut behind Clint as he leaves, clearly having had enough for one day, leaving the soldier wondering just what the hell is going on. One way or another, though, he’ll find out.

\--

“ What do you mean, my _new partner_? Fury, I know you like a laugh, but—“

“ No jokes here, Captain, this is the real deal. “ Fury settles down at his desk, leaning forward on his elbows and knotting his fingers together, watching Steve with a perfectly unreadable expression. “ Agent Barton is one of my best men, if anyone can get you on track, it’s him. “

“ With all due respect, sir, I can manage fine on my own. “ Steve insists, clasping his hands behind his back, keeping his temper and his frustration under wraps. “ I don’t need a partner, so Barton can return to—“

“ You _both_ need partners, Captain Rogers. And you will deal with it. “

Steve wants to argue, to tell him it’s pointless, that there’s no way this could work. On the surface, Clint is too much like Bucky, too much like the man Steve lost all those years ago, the partner he couldn’t save. But they’re not the same. He and Barton don’t get along, they don’t match, they don’t flow. They’re not partners. Clint’s automatic boredom the moment he’d entered Steve’s office this morning is more than enough proof.

But Steve’s learned fast that when Nick Fury looks at you like that, with that glare wrinkling his forehead, you don’t argue. With a deep breath, the soldier nods and turns to leave, giving up his plan to undo what is so clearly already done and forming something new, something to help him figure out just how he’s going to work with the agent he’s been paired with.

\--

 Two weeks. Two goddamned impossible weeks.

Barton seems to live under the impression that Steve can’t particularly manage anything, that Captain America only gets in the way. It’s almost as though Clint’s tired of hearing that name, that the good Captain has been the topic of every conversation that’s surrounded him, and it’s finally pushed him to complete and utter indifference.

Their last encounter had been this morning in the shooting range, where Steve had been reacquainting himself with firearms. Because hey, taking a shot was the same even when you’ve been stuck on ice for sixty-odd years, but now, guns were different. And, of course, Barton just had to march in and prove that any shot Steve could make with a gun, the agent could make with a bow.

That had been two hours ago. After completing his rounds and surrendering his practice weapons, Steve had left the man to his bow and arrows, and tucked himself away in the corner of the small, communal lounge area. SHIELD doesn’t have many of these; only two in base and one on the helicarrier, but it’s so rarely used that Steve could easily settle down in the corner in an armchair with his sketchbook in his lap, and lose himself in the one thing that hasn’t changed, even after so many years.

Just as he finishes sketching out a rough outline of the view of the city he’d caught on the helicarrier last week, Steve finds he had company.

“ What’cha got there, Stars and Stripes? “ That drawl Steve’s grown so damn used to hits him as Clint walks though the door, throwing himself lazily into a chair opposite the soldier. Steve holds in a sigh and lets himself settle before responding.

“ Sketchbook. Nothing overly special. “ With a pencil in hand and a page for him to turn into something wonderful, Steve won’t let his frustration rise. He’s not going to take the bait. Art is the last defence he has left to the pain of a life he’s lost, and Clint is not taking that away.

“ Didn’t know you scribbled, Captain. “

“ I don’t. I draw. Helps me—deal. “

Silence falls between them, as though Steve has said something entirely out of character. And really, he has. No one, not even his supposed new partner, knows what plagues his mind, what tortures him and keeps him up every night. The art helps, though, especially when he’s spent hours being riled by a man who he should be able to trust with his life. Nevertheless, Steve falls back into the gentle strokes of pencil on paper, the steady swishes and the careful lining of the skyscrapers and the buildings, windows, antennas on an apartment building, the sun shining down on the city of New York.

He’s so lost in the sketch that he doesn’t even notice Clint moving across the room, perching on the chair in front of Steve and peering over the top of the book to take in the details of the sketch, not until Clint’s leaning so close that the ends of his hair are actually appearing in Steve’s line of vision.

“ What—Geez, Cap, s’not half bad. “ The tone Clint uses is a little lighter than usual, drained of the slightest touch of his usual boredom and indifference, replaced with... Was that... Interest?

No, it can’t be. _Can it_?

“ It’s just a bunch of—nothing, really. Images in my head decide they want to be on paper and before I know it I’ve filled ten pages with memories or ideas or—“ And Steve realises all too late that he’s rambling to someone who, most likely, lost interest after the first three words. He squirms uncomfortably in his chair, unconsciously digging himself deeper into the soft cushioned surface of his seat. “ Sorry, you’ve got better things to do than listen to an old man ramble about art. “

“ And who’s to say m’not an aspiring artist, Rogers? “ Clint chuckles as he settles down, tucking his legs beneath him and craning his neck to peer onto the page, a definite sparkle of interest in his eyes. It’s a sight that surprises the soldier. Who would have thought Barton actually gives a damn about art? Or, to be more specific, _Steve’s_ art?

“ Well look at that, maybe this senior citizen can teach you a thing or two, huh? “ The words leave Steve before he can stop himself, the amused edge of his tone surprising him.

“ Is that a sense of humour I smell, Captain? “

“ Maybe just this once, Agent. “

\--

“ Something got you on edge, Cap? “

After near-on two years, Steve and his partner have reached a common ground. Steve’s gone through months of training, of practicing, of easing back into the world, and soon he and Clint found themselves able to stand each other; they’ve even begun to like each other, and it has just gotten easier from there. Easier for Steve to adjust, to learn, to come to a conclusion that, hey, maybe the world he’s been brought into isn’t all that bad.

Captain America is officially on the SHIELD payroll as an Agent, and somehow he’s found his place there quite easily.

Or at least he thought so until their first high-class mission is handed down to them: an undercover job in Hungary, where Steve would be posing as a US Government official by the name of Peter Johnson. A Simple and inconspicuous name, just like Clint’s cover: Ethan Turner. The city of Budapest is filled with political distress, with riots rocking the streets and threatening to wreak havoc on everything in sight. Their covers are – and this made Steve shake his head from the get-go – international advisors in aid of the political crisis, in order to keep them both discretely close to the Prime Minister. To keep them both on the lookout for their target: a terrorist group called the Francba Madarak, a very dangerous, very driven cell that would become Steve and Clint’s responsibility the moment they step off their jet and assume their covers.

Steve’s never done an undercover mission. Not once. He’s never taken on a persona, never drawn a mask over his own identity. All he can be is Captain America, the supersoldier, the hero out in the open. Taking on another personality entirely?

Maybe they’ve chosen the wrong agent.

“ Not a thing, just getting ready for the mission. “ Steve responds in the same level tones he always uses when he knows he needs to keep things steady. It is his job, after all. Ever since Steve had been gifted with the serum, those around him have looked to the stars and stripes, to the superhero, to bring things together. Something he cannot do if he isn’t together himself.

“ Y’know, I _almost_ believe you. “ Clint chuckles as he wanders into the room, eyes drifting over the duffel bag Steve is so hurriedly packing. “ Spit it out, we haven’t got all day and you ain’t walkin’ out there like this. “

Sometimes, Steve wonders if their partnership has been a little too long already. However hard he tries to keep things under wraps, Clint seems to read through him anyway.

“ I doubt you could stop me, son. “

“ Well, you’re the one who’s been picking me up on my hand-to-hand, _sir.”_

Damn smartass. As always.

“ So. “ Clint spits out after a few minutes of tense silence between them. “ Are you gonna tell me or do I have to play twenty questions? “

“ Clint, it’s not worth the trouble—“ Steve begins, completely intending to brush his reticence off as a pointless insecurity. Barton, though, is having none of that.

“ It clearly is, if you’re freaking out so much. “ His response is blunt as hell, but he has a point. Of course he does.

“ When have you ever seen me undercover? “ The soldier doesn’t turn as he speaks, doesn’t cease his movements, trying to speak as though it’s the most average conversation in the world. As though it hasn’t been weighing on his mind endlessly, making him wonder just when this mission was going to blow up in their faces because of his lack of experience.

Not if. _When_.

“ You mean other than when you covered for me with Fury when I skipped out on those meetings--? “

“ I mean _real_ mission experience, Barton. “ Steve’s tone has an edge, harsher than he intends. But it rolls off Clint like water off a duck’s back, apparently, as Barton crosses his arms and leans against the wall, watching Steve with an entirely blank expression.

“ So far, you _haven’t_ had a major undercover mission. “ His response is standard and dull, as though he doesn’t think it’s a big deal. All the more reason Steve doesn’t think this was worth bringing up.

“ So then why in the hell has Fury thrown me onto—“

“ Because you’ve got what it takes, and he wouldn’t have put you on this if he didn’t think so. Hell, I wouldn’t let you out there if I didn’t agree. “ And there’s that tone, the quiet voice with the edge of sternness, the slight view of the soldier Clint most likely had been once. There’s a whole past behind Barton that they haven’t even scratched the surface of yet, but Steve knows how to spot a fellow soldier, in the way they snap to attention subconsciously when the time calls for it, the way they give and take the right kinds of orders, the way they automatically switch into combat mode without a hitch.

Steve sees a soldier in front of him, and it’s made all the more obvious when Clint uses that tone, that hint of control and determination. And for a moment, Steve can see that there isn’t an agent standing in front of him, but a fellow soldier, a man who has already seen the heart of him through he time they’ve worked together, a man who knows what is hidden away beneath the usual skills, and who expects to see them when the time is right.

“ Clint, I’m not like you, I’m not trained to put on an act and pretend to—“

“ No one’s asking you to pull an act, we’re not giving you a personality to stick to. You need to be you. The attentive soldier who puts the mission at hand before anything else, the one who sees what other people don’t and can make the sacrifice play at the right time. We’re giving you a name and a suit and briefcase, but you’re still Steve Rogers. “

It’s funny how Clint Barton, who says the most absurd things, tries the most ridiculous stunts, can also pull logic out of nowhere. And make it sound accurate, Steve thinks.

He takes a deep breath as the words sunk in, taking effect in his mind, seeping into his soul, drawing the doubt out like poison from a wound. There’s still concern, of course. Steve will _never_ stop worrying that maybe this time he won’t be able to stop what no one else could, that he won’t meet the mark, that they will fall or something would best them. And walking into this without his shield, without the cowl and the Captain America suit, it’s not ideal. But it’s his mission, and he has to make do. And he wouldn’t be on this assignment if he couldn’t handle it.

Fury’s insane, but not that much.

“ I guess time will tell, right? “ He responds with a stable voice, but something has changed in his tone, something fresh and settled and relieved. And when Steve chances a glance at his partner, he can see Clint has heard it, that the archer knows he’s done his job.

“ Guess so. Assuming I don’t leave you behind, old man. “

“ Hey, I’m a senior citizen, show some respect. “

\--

The flight is tough. Covers are assumed the moment they leave SHIELD, the moment they’re out in the open. The two blond agents stride out of the building in their SHIELD-regulation suits, looking every inch the government officials they’re being pinned as. Down to their very shoes, the two men have filled the roles they have been given. Nothing changes on the flight, but neither of the men are comfortable. There is too much to think over, too much to plan. Too much that could potentially go wrong.

Every possible scenario is running through their minds, both men analysing the situation over and over as they were both so well trained to do.

They arrive in Budapest expecting the worst.

Implementing their covers is easy. They seem to fit well, Steve’s authoritative personality taking charge in that official way he always manages, handling the more strictly-cut matters and leaving his partner free to watch. Which is something Hawkeye does very well. While Steve takes charge, keeps things flowing, did what needed to be done both to fill their covers and keep the mission on track, Clint observes. Clint looks over everything. Clint keeps track of the big picture. And Steve is grateful for it; it means he can focus on those things close at hand, while Clint keeps an eye on everything from a distance.

But things are too perfect. No mission ever runs without a hitch, nothing goes without a hiccup. Steve feels it a mere three days in, but keeps it to himself, thinking perhaps it’s because of their covers. The way things seem to flow, though, is discomfiting. Nothing should be so functional, not in a country stuck in such distress. _Something_ should have gone wrong by now.

Somewhere around two weeks in, both men finally sit down, out of sight and away from prying eyes, talking over their fears with hesitation.

“ It’s not right. “

“ Damn right it’s not. “

And that’s it. That is all Steve needs to know that whatever he’s seen – or not seen – is too easy, too structured, too perfect. And whatever Clint’s spent so much time peering at in the distance, it’s all the same.

They’re in trouble.

\--

Time passes, and still not a sound. Nothing. They’re running out of time. The country has settled. Things are levelling out. Beauty has begun spreading through the streets of Budapest again, rather than violence. Hope, rather than pain. Calm, rather than anarchy.

Steve doesn’t like it.

It’s wonderful to see the city slowly coming back to life, but for their mission it’s unnerving. Neither of them knows what to do, how to approach a problem that doesn’t seem to exist, how to fix what just seems to be irreparable. Something that feels like it should be right in front of their face, that it should be easy to find, but they just can’t figure it out.

November is suddenly upon them, and still the two partners are stuck in the same position, waiting for something that is long overdue. A hitch. A snag. Something they can build on. Anything. They have all the intel they can gather, they have all the resources they could need. But there’s just nothing to use it on. Everything’s flowing too perfectly.

Neither like where this is going. They request an emergency evac, an end to the mission, but Fury just insists they give it more time. Another week. And as much as they don’t like it, the two agents aren’t about to disobey direct orders. So, for one more week, the two stay.

Which is just enough time for all hell to finally break loose.

The Madarak attack when no one expects it. No one knows what’s going on, but one minute Steve is running over official documents with some senior undersecretary of something or the other, Clint peering over their shoulders suspiciously, and the next, they hit. The explosion shakes the building, bricks screeching, the whole structure shuddering as though it will shake apart. Steve and Clint are on the move immediately, pushing through the crowds of office workers and politicians who are rushing about, trying to scramble to safety, all fearing a fresh outbreak of insanity.

When the two agents finally reach a vantage point, they know it’s too late. They can either fall back, keeping their covers in play, or they can take the Madarak’s bait and chase what they’ve been sent there for.

Steve has never broken through a window so fast.

Guns aren’t usually his thing, but he’s glad he had a handgun hidden under his suit jacket as he and Clint sprint off the street and into an alleyway. Whoever these attackers are, they aren’t getting away. They aren’t hiding, not this time. Not after all the weeks the agents have spent waiting, torturing themselves with their own apprehension and instincts. Steve knows they have once chance. He pushes harder, legs and arms pumping as he speeds up, turning a corner, they’re so close—

And suddenly, their targets are gone.

“ Up. Quickly. “ Steve murmurs as Clint catches up, keeping surprisingly good speed in comparison to the supersoldier. But they can compliment each other later. Steve throws himself at the lowest level of the fire escape and hauls himself up and over the railing, before proceeding to take the steps three at a time, knowing they have to hurry. Clint’s not far behind, more than nimble enough to make his way up the side of a building with ease. Soon they’re standing against the slight wind on the roof, and… _there_ they are.

The two men are after their targets again without pause, without stopping to catch their breath, without hesitation. They’re a small group, a strike team, who are doing their best to disappear from sight. But Steve is not having it. Another burst of speed, some more determination piled on. Across the rooftops, up and down, unsteady. One false move and they’re toast. Steve is careful, though, trained muscles taking over and keeping him safe, and he doesn’t have to look to know Clint has a grip on what he’s doing.

And then a yell and a shot rings out from below. _Damn_ _it_.

A glance tells Steve all he needs to know; the government has picked up on their little acrobatic act on the rooftops. Needless to say they seem to have figured out that Clint and Steve are not Ethan Turner and Peter Johnson. That… complicates things.

“ You take these clowns, I’ll deal with the suits. “ Steve tells Clint quickly as he changes direction, heading for a building to his left that seems to be within jumping range. As he makes the leap, he knows Clint has continued his pursuit. They’ve planned for this. They would take down the team and bring one back for questioning. They have a rendezvous point chosen. Everything’s set up.

Assuming Steve can get rid of the government security.

Slithering midway down a fire escape, Steve locates an open window and dives into it before a shower of bullets head his way. Ignoring the squeals of the inhabitants of what seem to be an apartment he’s just leapt into, Steve makes his way out into the hallway, mind running at a million miles an hour. Head-on would usually be his best approach, but he can’t approach this as Captain America. This time it’s Agent Rogers. And as an agent, Steve needs to do something a little different.

Needless to say, it’s a shame Clint isn’t there to see it.

The security men aren’t as dim as they seem, locating him and swarming into the building, working their way up the floors, assuming Steve won’t, or can’t, escape to the roof again. And they don’t know it yet, but they’re out of luck against the supersoldier waiting for them in a cleaner’s cupboard. He waits until the last man passes before he reaches out, snagging him with one arm around his neck and the other covering his mouth, pulling him back into the closet and keeping him silent as he struggles to breathe.

None of the others notice the absence of their team member, thankfully, as Steve sets the body on the ground in the corner of the closet, keeping it out of sight just to be on the safe side. Good. That keeps the advantage on his side.

\--

Barton is late.

If Steve knows anything about his partner, it’s that he is never late. He’s always prompt and exact with his rendezvous times. Always making sure to set an example, after the time he’d lost his temper with another agent who’d thought there was no problem with getting side-tracked mid-mission because of their own distraction and stupidity.

So if Barton’s late, something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong.

Steve has the utmost confidence in Clint’s abilities. He knows _exactly_ what the man can handle, what he can’t handle, how he approaches a mission. How much he can take. He _knows_ Clint can handle that group of idiot terrorists he’d gone after on the rooftop five hours ago. Which means this thing is much bigger than they’d originally thought.

It also means that they have been the targets from the very start.

The soldier knows he should wait. There could be any number of reasons Clint’s late. But that bad feeling Steve has, the same one that has been rolling around in his gut for weeks, the one that leaves a sour taste in his mouth and a pang of fear in his heart, it’s all playing in his mind, digging in deep, setting off all his instincts that tell him this isn’t a simple issue.

Within minutes, Steve’s fished out his comm device and is on the emergency link he has directly to Coulson.

“ Cap—Agent Rogers, this line is only for—“ Coulson starts, correcting himself as he always needs to. Any other time, Steve would chuckle at the slipup; he’d smile at the way Coulson’s voice always has a tone of admiration for him. There’s no time, though. Not today.

“ This _is_ an emergency, Coulson. He’s gone. “ Steve’s voice is dangerously low, concern and fear and anger all coursing through him, threatening to take him over. Steve forces them back; they won’t help him find his partner.

“ Gone—how? What happened, Rogers? “

Steve can practically hear their handler’s growing panic through the comm link. Clint has worked beneath Coulson ever since he joined the agency, so it goes without saying that the man is concerned for his star agent. Steve, on the other hand, feels an endlessly growing determination. The more he explains, the more he is sure he’s going to bring his partner home.

He has to.

“ We’ll send in a team to locate and—“

“ Don’t even think about it, Coulson. This is my op. “ The soldier practically growls down the line, knowing he shouldn’t, knowing rationality should prevail. But this is his _partner_. This is the first man to recognise Steve for what he is, rather than as the superhero everyone else loves. Steve is bringing him the hell home. “ This was SHIELD’s job, this was up to you to make sure our covers were secure. But this was _planned_. Do you understand? They set this up. They _knew._ ”

Silence. Steve knows he’s crossed a line, but every word he’s said is true. He’d become an agent, trusted his handler, trusted Fury, blindly trusted all of them, just to be thrown in the deep end, and now? Now his partner is missing. At least, this is what Steve hopes for. He’s not sure he’s ready to face the alternatives.

“ Steve, this wasn’t—“

“ Wasn’t supposed to happen. But it did. They got us, Coulson. “ Steve’s voice falls quiet. Still dark, but quiet. He’s not about to let this go. Not yet. “ Starting now, I’m going dark. Cutting all communication. Your mission, as we know it? Finished. This is my show now. I’m doing this my way. And if you try and stop me, I’ll disappear and you will not find me until I want to be found. “ And Steve knows he can do it.

“ That’s _not_ how this works, Agent Rogers. “ He can hear Coulson trying his best to regain control, to snap Steve out of it, put him back in line, but it won’t work. Steve’s livid, furious for this mistake, determined to fix it. And SHIELD isn’t involved in that plan. Not in the slightest. Not until he calls. Not until he deems them worth it. And right now? They have a long way to go.

“ Maybe not with your other kids, but it is with me. I’ll contact you with an extraction point when I have his location pinged, Coulson. And don’t you dare send agents after me, or I won’t be responsible for what state you find them in. “

\--

Scouring an entire city alone for clues is difficult as all hell, and Steve finds himself counting his blessings every single day. If not for the serum, he would have burnt out long ago. It keeps him awake, though, alert enough to plan his next day, plot what areas to rule out, where to search, what to look for. He’s disguised whenever he’s out in public, or he’s out of sight. The last thing Steve is going to do is risk getting caught, too. Not when it now rests on him to find his partner and take him home.

The soldier refuses to accept that, maybe, Clint’s already gone. That’s not a possibility. He’s not losing another one. Another friend. Another man who believed in him when he probably shouldn’t have.

Two days of groundwork, of ruling out the most obvious possibilities, another day of gathering intel, and Steve is wondering just where the hell he can go next. There are a million avenues for him to choose from, but he knows he’s running out of time. He knows he’s got to move fast. Every second he wastes is a second closer to losing his partner, and that’s one thing Steve can’t face again. His hands clench on the desk before him, eyes fixed onto the papers with what information he’s collected so far, but he’s far from seeing the words in his notes. His mind is flashing back to so many years ago, to sprinting through the corridors of that Hydra plant, finding his best friend strapped to a table, murmuring helplessly to himself. To the sight of his best friend hanging from a railing, a railing that won’t hold much longer, and Steve’s reaching out but it’s too late, it’s always too late—

No. It won’t happen this time. Steve will succeed, he will find his partner and bring him home. Whatever the cost. He won’t fail, not again.

\--

Steve counts himself lucky he pays so much attention to behaviour. Before the serum, that was all he had. A sketch pad and a pencil and all the time in the world to watch someone’s behaviour, to pick up on the small hints and tell-tale signs of their personality, and to make that personality come to life on the paper. It became a habit, to learn how people act, to see what others didn’t. To pick up patterns. To impose them on himself to get by.

It makes it much easier to find the information he needs.

After the physical hunt through the city gives up no clues, Steve begins to look for other signs. Piecing together information from when the terrorist activity had begun, figuring out how it tied in with the riots, with the unrest and insanity that had gripped the city. There has to have been a link between the beginnings of the Madarak’s activities and something else, something minor. Something Steve has been missing.

He’d started with the criminal reports spanning over the past year. Looking for rises in activity, small events that wouldn’t have been pinned to an entire organisation. Movements to get everything into place for when the group finally made their first true move. After hours of reading through reports, Steve finally finds something. A string of attacks on chain convenience stores, leaving them abandoned and boarded up. Empty. Perfect for small bases, for safe houses. The police hadn’t caught onto it, had just assumed it was another trouble in some corner of the city. Steve has a gut feeling, though.

Switching tactics, he widens his search to a month before the attacks began, looking not for criminal acts, but for building purchases.

There are three in that span of time that could be suspicious. Under-the-table purchases, made with cash, no name given on the records. And with the country slowly sinking into so much unrest, they had simply been overlooked. Two are small houses on the very outskirts of the city, hardly premises appropriate for a large-scale terrorist organisation.

The third one, though?

A large bathhouse, abandoned for years, finally sold for a ridiculous price. And it’s perfect for something like that; it’s also the only lead Steve has.

Thank God Clint had brought his bow with them, at the very start of the mission, and that Clint had shown Steve six months ago how to unfold it, how to string it…Better yet, how to use it.

\--

A vehicle waits nearby, so Steve can escape with his partner. He’s set up an extraction point with SHIELD, with Maria Hill to be specific. As much as his handler is a good man, Steve can’t help but hold onto his frustrations with Coulson. Once Barton is back home, once they’re both safe, then Steve will sit down with the man and have a talk with him. There is a part of him that feels guilty for what he did; anyone and everyone knows just how much Phil Coulson admires Captain America. This isn’t about Captain America, though. This is about Steve Rogers getting his partner back. Some things will just have to wait.

The bow is slung across his back, as well a full quiver of arrows, the weight welcome in the face of what’s to come. Steve’s been watching the bathhouse for nearly a day now, and he knows it’s approaching a shift change. He knows that’s the best time to attack. Steve can sneak in, if he wants to, but only to a degree. There are too many men, too many risks, and too many chances he will get caught. But he’s going to have to try, he knows. It’s the best hope for Clint.

Steve doesn’t want them to know who it is. The shield is safe back on the helicarrier, left behind. It wouldn’t have gone well for Captain America to be found in the middle of Hungary, posing as a government official. The bow, though, is easy to fold away, to hide, and to keep out of sight.

At least, until he needs it to start shooting arrows at these morons. Then they might pick up on it.

_There._

Steve crouches in the protection of the shadows for a moment, watching as the shift change begins. While the attention is elsewhere, he darts forward, moving fast to hide himself behind the building while the guards exchange information. From what he can gather he’s got around thirty seconds before the shift starts, before the new men go on their rounds. From there it’s fight or flight, and Steve isn’t running away.

Glancing up at the building, Steve tries to look for the easiest way in. And it seems hopeless at first, but on the next story up there’s a window that he thinks has been left ajar, just slightly. Enough for the soldier to sneak inside unnoticed, hopefully. Without wasting another moment, Steve scales the wall with ease, reaching out for the edge of the fire escape, the ledges of windows, until he reaches his destination, pausing only to ensure the room is empty before slithering inside and leaving the window exactly how it was.

Getting through the bathhouse from there is easy. The guards are on a rotating patrol, one man per corridor, each guard never coming close to another, supposedly keeping all areas covered at all times. What they don’t seem to understand, though, is it leaves a perfect opening for Steve to snag and take out the guard just outside the room as he walks past, and from there it’s only a matter of good timing and luck.

Both of which Steve seems to have in excess.

Once he’s found his partner, he knows hell will break loose. But until then he needs to stay silent, he needs to—

<” Who are you, what— “> Steve lashes out at the voice instantly, launching himself at the man who’s trying to leave his office at just the moment that the soldier is sneaking past. Steve snaps the door shut behind them quickly with one hand, while his other arm curls around the man’s neck in a sleeper hold. The man struggles and scratches, tries to slip out, but Steve is too strong and within moments, the man is nothing but dead weight.

<” Johann, did something happen? “>

Of _course_.

<” No, everything’s fine. “> Steve responds in a rough imitation of the man’s voice, hoping the source of the question would believe it. It takes a few moments – and Steve is counting down the seconds – of two voices murmuring to each other outside the door, but eventually, they grunt in response and leave.

Thank God SHIELD had run him through countless languages during his training.

After a few minutes, just to be on the safe side, Steve cracks the door open, checks that the corridor is clear, and continues, fresh determination and adrenalin rushing through his veins.

The rest of the building is easy enough to get through, the same process serving him well. Stay out of sight, check the rooms as he goes, clear the guards without a sound, move forward fast. Nothing stops him, nothing halts him, nothing grabs his attention.

Not until he’s passing a large room with a bath sunk low into the ground, full of…

_Jesus Christ._

What should be water, what would have once been clear, is now deeply tinged with red, polluted with far too much blood. More than one person should lose. Steve doesn’t need to know what’s happened to know that it’s Clint’s. He can feel his heart sinking, logic being threatened by rage, because he knows that _no one_ should be able to lose that much blood and survive.

And if Steve isn’t careful, he’ll be seeing red himself.

Struggling to keep his composure, Steve forces himself to press on. It can’t be far now. They couldn’t be holding Clint much further away, not with the injuries he would have sustained to lose so much blood. Steve can feel pain in his hands, curled so tightly into fists that the joints of his fingers are straining, and he uses it to concentrate, to stay grounded, to focus. He needs to find him. _Now_.

The third cell Steve breaks into is different, he knows. He can feel it in his gut as the door swings open, dim light flooding the room. Steve can smell the blood, sharp and overwhelming, but rather than shying away from it the soldier moves forward, shutting the door silently behind him. There’s enough light from the small lantern on the wall for him to see what distinctly looks like a body, slumped in the corner, unmoving.

“ Clint. “ The word leaves him without a second thought as Steve rushes over, dropping down beside the man, ignoring the blood that stains his uniform. With as much care as he can manage, the soldier turns Clint over, trying not to think about how much he seems like dead weight, and for a moment, Steve wonders if he really is gone. But the slightest groan leaves Clint, pained and broken, pulled apart, followed by a rattling breath. His shoulder is crudely bandaged with disgusting rags of cloth, his hip in much the same situation, blood seeping through both.

“ Jesus Christ, What the _hell_ —“

Oh, God. The injuries. Clint may not be dead, but he probably hopes he is. His shoulder is basically falling apart, barely kept together by the bandages. His hip isn’t much better, butchered and mutilated, but before Steve can inspect them any further, Clint’s murmuring under his breath, and it’s all too familiar.

“ Steve… “ Talking seems like such a struggle for the man, his chest heaving as his head lolls onto his shoulder. Eyes flutter open to meet Steve’s, unstable and glazed, but the Clint Barton he knows is still in there. And it’s such a flashback, it’s such a reminder of Bucky on that damn table, strapped down and mumbling, lost to the world in God knows how much pain, that Steve can feel his heart clench with anguish, panic threatening to take over. He needs to move fast, though. Clint can’t afford him to lose his wits, not now. Steve needs to keep it together, and he certainly does; he quickly props the smaller man up against the wall and begins unwinding the bandages around his shoulder, separating the useless scraps from the half-decent rags he can still use. “ .. You’re okay? They—They told me.. “

“ C’mon, Barton, The ice couldn’t stop me, you thought they could? “ Steve quips quietly as he picks up the bandages, hesitating for the briefest moment before murmuring; “ This is gonna hurt, Barton. “ And after giving Clint a second to brace himself, Steve presses a bandage against Clint’s shoulder. With the state it’s in, though, it’s not going to last long; a thought that spurs Steve to press harder as he wraps the bandages tight around the shoulder that truly seemed ready to just fall apart. At least the bandages will last long enough, hopefully, until they get the hell out of here and back home. That’s as far as Steve can think, right now, as he moves onto the mess of Clint’s hip.

“Not Barton. Not— Turner. They never broke me. Phil’d be proud,” Clint babbles, voice rough and low and morphing into a yelp. Steve grimaces, muttering quiet apologies as he tugs the bandages on his side tight, causing Clint to writhe and arch in pain. He’s a mess, a total and utter mess; the bastards had outright butchered him like a cow. All the blood in the pool outside makes sense now. How in the _hell_ his partner is still breathing, Steve has no idea. Moving fast to stop the flow of blood that had started up again, Steve rewraps the bandages around Clint’s abdomen as tight as he can manage, ignoring his groans and gasps of pain.

“ Never expected any less from you, partner. “ Steve responds with pure, raw honesty, because it’s true. Clint is more stubborn than anyone Steve has ever known—well, almost. Pulling the bow off his back, Steve takes the man’s hand and sets his fingers around the weapon, the familiarity of the touch bringing some kind of life back to Clint’s eyes. The soldier can use the bow if he must, and use it well. But it’s Clint’s; it’s a part of him. It’s an extension of his arm, of his mind, of everything he is. If he’s going to get them out of here alive, the agent will need it. “ Thought you’d be happy to see this. “

The groan that leaves Clint as he heaves himself up – with a lot of Steve’s help – is gut wrenching; the soldier ignores the feeling of dread the noise stirs up in his mind. He’s got his partner, alive and in one piece, somehow, and he’s only got a certain amount of time to get Clint out and to their extraction point before the adrenaline wears off. But they can make it. Steve knows they can.

“ You still… up for this… old man? “ Clint spits out between pants as the pain threatens to overtake him, but Steve hands him the quiver full of arrows and that seems to settle something. He knows, logically, Clint is shutting off the pain in his mind, that the injuries are still there but the agent is just refusing to accept it. For now, though, that’s going to have to do.

“ I’ve still got some fight left in me, Son. “ He responds as the pair of them make their way to the cell door, pausing so Clint can gather his wits about him. Because outside that door, there’s going to be hell, and they both know it.

\--

Clint’s bleeding way too much.

They’re not far off, not anymore. Steve’s always been particularly good at what he calls defensive driving, though he never shows it. If Clint was in any state to pay attention, no doubt he would be calling Steve out on the various road rules he’s currently breaking, just because the soldier himself is usually such a stickler for rules.

But rules went out the window the moment Steve went dark.

The hangar where SHIELD is waiting for him isn’t far off, he knows, but Steve’s driving with one hand while the other presses hard on Clint’s hip, the worst of the two wounds. Blood is seeping through the makeshift bandages, and Steve knows he should redress the wounds, just pull over and take care of it, but Clint’s skin has gone horribly pale, and the adrenalin is beginning to wear off. Clint’s starting to shake from the effort of staying conscious, from the pain that comes with every single shift of the car, and really, Steve _should_ slow down to make the trip easier.

But he can’t. Not when he knows Clint’s so damn close to getting home.

The car practically slides around a corner and speeds into the deserted private airstrip SHIELD has conveniently borrowed for the occasion, skidding to a halt in the mouth of the hangar where a team of agents are waiting. And heading them, just as Steve had demanded, is Maria Hill, the Assistant Director herself.

Fancy that, they actually listened to him.

Steve doesn’t waste any time, hauling himself out of the car and hurrying around to the other side. He didn’t escape without injury; bullet grazes and knife wounds, general pains of the attacks he had to fend off. It would have been easier with the shield in hand, but he made do, the serum serving him well. It takes the edge off the pain from his every movement as he wrenches open the passenger door and helps Clint out. He would carry him, but the damn kid is way too stubborn for that. Instead, Steve supports him – practically carrying him anyway – into the hangar, stopping just short of the woman who has been watching them both with sharp eyes the whole way.

Clint pulls away for a moment, swaying dangerously before he manages to stand on his own two feet, and takes the last few steps towards Hill, giving the medical team a chance to swoop in on Steve. He brushes them off, though, knowing there is no injury on his body that needs all that much attention, and they can’t give him painkillers, not with the serum. It’d make absolutely no difference. He simply watches carefully as Maria and Clint exchange a few words

“ Ma’am. “ Barton’s attitude is as childish as always as he gives her a half-assed salute. In that one motion, everything drains from him, from his body and his soul. The bow falls to the ground with an echoing clatter, and if not for Maria’s perfectly honed reflexes, Clint would have followed.

“ Oh, no you don’t, Barton. I didn’t give you permission to clock out just yet. “ She growls in response, and Steve has to chuckle, even though the action pains him. He’s seen what the two have, the friendship they’ve found underneath the layers of CO and agent. The way they care for each other. It’s the reason he’d asked her to meet them at the extraction herself.

Clint is in safe hands, now. That much Steve can be sure of. What worries him, though, is what is still to come.


End file.
